


good morning

by Aisu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 13:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu/pseuds/Aisu
Summary: "You awaken to golden light from between the curtains and the smell of cinnamon and sugar through the air."Four years on, Frisk takes a sleepy morning to reflect on things.





	good morning

**Author's Note:**

> Happy fourth anniversary, Undertale.

You awaken to golden light from between the curtains and the smell of cinnamon and sugar through the air. For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, enjoying the warmth of the sun against your face.

Then another face intrudes on your view, not blocking the sunlight even as they come between you and the window. “Are you planning to go back to sleep immediately?” the intruder asks, sounding a little amused. “Despite smelling Mom's pancakes?”

That gets a little grin out of you. “I’m up,” you answer, hands moving through the gold-lit air. “It’s just… a nice morning.”

“As it should be. If it had rained today, I believe I would have been forced to curse the Gods for hours on end for their cruelties against you.” Chara smirks, hovering back up above you. “Come on, then.”

You nod obligingly, pushing the star-patterned blankets away and sitting up. “Where’s–”

“Already downstairs. Helping cook, or, more likely, stealing sugar when Mom isn’t looking.” Chara shrugs. “Likely to be in the way in either case.”

You giggle at that, heading for the door. “That’s mean. He’s… helping more, you know? Like, he grumbles, but…”

“Oh, I know, and I’m happier than I can say to see it. But it remains my right as his sibling to tease him mercilessly.” A slight flash of a grin.

That gets another giggle out of you, and you head out of the room, down the hall.

The scent only gets stronger, the sweet and spicy notes clearer. Chara recognizes the buttery sweetness at nearly the same moment as you, and both of you exchange quick grins.

She makes something butterscotch-cinnamon every year. A small tradition, and a welcome one.

(Not that she doesn’t make butterscotch and cinnamon desserts most of the rest of the year, too.)

You step into the dining room, and Toriel ducks her head around the door and smiles. “Oh, good morning, my children! Please, have a seat - breakfast is almost ready. I would normally ask you to set the utensils out, but on a day such as this…”

She turns to the golden-furred figure already seated at the table.

“Would you mind assisting?”

Flowey groans, pushing himself back from the counter. The motion is fluid, smooth - you’ve mostly gotten used to it, but it’s still nice to see how the years of Alphys and Flowey working together have resulted in something comfortable and natural. The form he’d finally settled on is nice, too. The fur is gold, the mane longer, the horns wrapped in vines - nobody would mistake it for who it is not. But still…

Still, in the end, he’d chosen to look like a Dreemurr.

Quietly, you’re glad for that. Even if saying it aloud would probably make him sulk for hours.

“Coming, coming…” He rolls his eyes, heading into the kitchen. You watch him, tilting your head. Something’s a little different, lately, that you can’t place.

Chara, next to you, abruptly gives an undignified snort of laughter. “Ah. I’ve solved the mystery.” They turn to you, grinning with unabashed delight. “At his most recent maintenance session, I believe our dear brother asked for… a modification.”

“A modification?” you echo, tilting your head.

They nod. “You know how you have been growing through your clothing at a rapid rate?” Their grin widens. “I suspect, if we were to make him stand still to be measured, we would find he is just a few inches taller than before.”

It clicks, then, and you can’t help giggling, Chara joining in right with you. The way Flowey stops in the doorway to glower back at you just makes the giggling worse.

It takes some maneuvering through the lingering laughter to make it to your chair, but finally you do, settling down. Lately, the chair feels just a little too small, but somehow it’s not in a bad way. Your feet rest on the floor, almost pushing your legs up - until, of course, you catch them on the higher support, folding in properly.

The kitchen is sunlit and sun-warmed, the light making little motes of dust dance. You lean back, closing your eyes, letting the sun sink in gently.

You can feel Chara next to you without even looking. They’re relaxed in the air, calm, at peace. You can almost feel the edges of their contentment against your mind, if you try.

It’s hard to believe that the Chara you met worlds away could ever feel so at peace.

But here you are, and here they are.

The clink of cutlery jolts you out of your thoughts a little, and you yawn and open an eye. Flowey has set out the knives and forks, going to take his seat again. “That tired, huh? Well, if you want to go back to bed, as your best friend I’ll take on the burden of eating all your pancakes.”

You respond, with infinite maturity and wisdom, by sticking your tongue out at him.

“Truly a cruel barb,” Chara comments. “A brilliant repartee.”

You stick your tongue out at them, too, and they laugh and float back.

Flowey follows the line of your gaze, tilting his head. He waves to the air, briefly, and your own hand waves back just as quickly. A moment’s confirmation, a mutual reassurance.

You’ve gotten used to them. Come to find some comfort in them, too.

You like helping them be together.

You like being there with them, too, after all.

Toriel’s padding footsteps emerge from the kitchen, and you look up to see her carrying a tray laden with plates. “I may have gone a touch overboard… but it is a special occasion, and you are a growing child.” She sets one of the plates in front of you with a smile, the stack of cinnamon-swirled-and-butterscotch-topped pancakes wavering a little.

“Happy Birthday, Frisk.”

You smile back at her, at the woman who took you in, the woman who has cared for you for years now, your mother, and you nod. “Thanks, mom.”

She beams, going to set another plate in front of Flowey before taking her seat.

“Now, this afternoon everyone will be coming by, but we have some time before then,” she says with a smile. “If there is anything special you would like to do, I would be more than happy to help, Frisk.”

You pause, consider.

Later, later, there will be the party, all your friends and all your family around you. You’re sure it will turn to chaos quickly - Undyne’s still somehow excited about being ‘just married’ six months after the wedding, and even more given to adding excitement to every event through spontaneous fires, and of course Papyrus will be there cheering her on in or adding even more fire between talking to Toriel about PE plans, and Sans will have some prank up his sleeve (“You ever think about the fact that he’s setting up elaborate Rube Goldberg machines to prank us now, and this is a good thing?” Chara had remarked once, watching water drip off your hair), and Alphys will want to check on Flowey and then probably join in whatever Undyne is doing and add dangerous technology to the mix, and your father will just sit calm and seemingly unseeing in the center of it all even as the fire spreads to his latest tacky sweater–

But right now, right here…

The dining room is full of sunlight, and your siblings are at your sides, and your mother is smiling at you, and everything smells like sugar and cinnamon and everything feels like home.

The world you left behind four years ago has never felt further away.

(You think it may never fully leave you, but here, now–you think you may be okay with that.)

You shake your head, and you smile, and you go to take a bite of your pancakes.

It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.


End file.
